Necessary Deception
by DreamingIce
Summary: There were times he hated himself for keeping up this deception, but it was for Eragon's own good. Or so he kept telling himself. Brom reflecting on Eragon after they've left Carvahall, but before Terim. Second in a Brom 'mini series'.


Necessary Deception 

**AN: Because I can't find enough stories that are on Brom (or anyone before the series, for that matter...) and the more I consider the Brom-is-Eragon's-father theory, the more it makes sense! (Look at Shur'tugal's theory page ****if you're interested, although I hadn't read that before. That just helped to re-enforce it. ;) )  
Loosely connected to _Underlying Pain. _Brom's reflecting back from just before he and Eragon reach Terim.**

**Disclaimer: Of course I own this, world-domination is my next goal. (Kidding! If I owned this, I wouldn't be going mad with anticipation over the third book, or the movie...) **

Brom both loved and hated the years in Carvahall. Loved them for the peace, the tight-knit community and—most importantly to him—Eragon.

Yet he was also one of the main reasons he hated it.

He watched the boy sleeping next to the scaled hide of the blue dragon, his memory remembering as he'd watched enviously as Eragon trailed Garrow and Roran around the village all those years ago now, back when he was a tousle-haired five-year-old with a ready smile. He hadn't smiled like that since leaving Carvahall.

There had always been a part of Brom which had screamed to him that it should have been _him_ Eragon followed around. But it wasn't, and it never would be. He couldn't reveal that, for the boy's own safety.

That, and he was afraid. Afraid of recrimination; afraid of rejection; afraid Garrow's reaction, to a certain extent; afraid of failing a loved one yet again.

He'd failed Saphira, his family, Selena, he couldn't bear it if he failed Eragon in the same way. Yet, he mused quietly as the object of his thoughts stirred in his sleep, he already had when he didn't acknowledge him as his own flesh and blood. His son.

He could try and justify it to himself all he wanted, but there was always a part of his mind which managed to dissect most of his arguments. And he felt an insensitive monster for it, too.

He had vowed to himself when Selena told him of her pregnancy that he would protect them both. After Selena's death though, doubt ha plagued him

How could he care for a child on his own? Give him what he needed? He couldn't provide for Eragon, it was better that Garrow and Marian raised him, alongside Roran. What if Galbatorix had decided to track him down? To raise Eragon himself would have put the boy in insurmountable danger; being in the same town was a risk as it was.

But he couldn't leave. For one thing, the Varden expected to find him here if he was needed. And despite the ache of watching Eragon grow up from a distance, a fascination of his son kept him firmly situated in Carvahall.

He'd naively thought that that ache would ease as time went on. Ha. Not likely. It only seemed to get worse as that time flew by.

Brom could see parts of himself begin to manifest in Eragon's personality; his determination and his inquisitive nature—question after question of 'Why...?" Brom then knew why everyone had got so exasperated with him all those years ago. He'd made a point of befriending Eragon, which wasn't hard as Eragon—always thirsty for knowledge—had decided that he was an excellent source of information. He had thought—again—that being close to Eragon would help him. It didn't.

The closer they became, the more the it stung. Then Marian fell sick when Eragon was nine, and one day after that Brom found the frantic boy on his doorstep. Garrow and Marian had finally told him that he was a fosterling; their nephew, not their son. He was shaking, still in denial over this new knowledge that had thrown everything he thought he had known into doubt. Brom chewed on his lip vigorously to stop himself embracing the boy and restrained himself to simply patting him on the shoulder.

The next few weeks were a tense affair, as Marian grew sicker and sicker, and Eragon slowly came to grips with the news, and he and Roran both clung to each other for support. The entire village lent it's quiet support to Garrow and the boys after her death a few days later.

But once the grief began to subside, Eragon's curiosity began to reassert itself. He began to ask questions; what was his mother like? Where had she been all those years before? What about his father? Why did she leave him in Carvahall?

Brom had winced every time he heard these questions. Of course, none of the villagers would expect him to know anything about this, as he had arrived about three weeks after Selena had already left. None of the people of Carvahall would suspect that he actually knew the answers to those questions. He wished that he could _tell _Eragon; about Selena, about himself; even about his older half-brother...

Brom shook himself out of his memories. There was a thought; he had no idea what had happened to Murtagh over the years. Out of a sense of duty to Selena, he had tried to keep tabs on her elder son; pondered ways which he could get him out of Galbatorix's grasp. But the last he had heard was the same time he found out about Selena's death: that Murtagh was being taken to Urû'baen. Brom knew there was no hope of him even getting into the capital, let alone out with a child. Not that he'd be a child anymore, he thought with another glance at his slumbering son. If Eragon was fifteen, going on sixteen, Murtagh must be nineteen by now.

And Brom sure hoped that he had turned out nothing like... _him._ But he wasn't going to think along that line, he wasn't... His eyes caught on ruby red blade near Eragon, and his eyes then flickered towards the blue dragon curled around Eragon.

_Damn!_

Brom angrily turned on the spot, flinging away thoughts of that... _traitor_ with the stones he savagely hurled into the undergrowth.

Brom stared blankly into the darkness, casting his memory back again. Life had continued as normal back in Carvahall after that particular ripple, although Eragon was still bursting with unanswered questions. But even they began to slow down to a trickle as months went by with no answers, and eventually stopped all together.

Not that Eragon's questions regarding other things ceased. Not at all. Brom would still be besieged by Eragon when ever there was something was on his mind which he thought Brom could answer. Not that he had minded that. He liked the fact that Eragon trusted him as much as he did Garrow or Roran. It meant there were moments where he could forget that Eragon didn't know of their relationship, where he could pretend that everything was fine.

But such lapses into fantasy could only last so long. Reality always jolted him back.

The years went past, and Brom watched with veiled pride as Eragon became one of the village's most skilled hunters. Everything seemed to be cruising along quite nicely, until a few months ago. Sloan had kicked up enough of a fuss about the 'strange blue stone from the cursed spine' that Eragon had tried to exchange for some meat. Brom's suspicions were aroused at the description of the 'stone'; it seemed familiar to him. He half expected a messenger from the Varden anytime, and his mind whirled with possibilities that would bring that blue egg to Carvahall. None of them optimistic. What of Arya? Had something happened to her? These thoughts had swirled around his head as he retold that painful tale of the Riders fall, his eyes falling on the illuminated face of his son as Eragon sat, enthralled.

No message had come. But Eragon had come to him with questions that made him even more suspicious. Questions about dragons and the Riders. Things that no but a Rider know, especially the mental links. Few beings outside the Riders knew of that, and most of those who did were elves; it was never mentioned in any of the stories about the Riders.

No mention of an egg was made, but his questions covered lifespans, the affects dragons had on their riders—during which Brom was amused to see Eragon's hands twitch, as if he was itching to check the tips of his ears. And the names. Why would he be asking about names... the egg had hatched, there was no other explanation.

His son was a Dragon Rider. Brom sighed, looking back over his shoulder as Eragon's Saphira flicked her tail in her sleep. He regretted that Eragon's life had been so unceremoniously turned on its head. Being a Rider meant that Eragon would never lead a normal life, and Brom mourned that for him. But he believed that he would rise to the challenges marvellously, all the same.

The day the Ra'zac had appeared Brom had known that the time for hiding was over. And his confirmation of Eragon's status as a Dragon Rider with the gedwëy ignasia the only bright spark in the day. Then the Sloan had opened his big fat mouth to them. Fool, Brom thought bitterly. Didn't he realise that he just as good as signed Garrow's death sentence, and nearly Eragon's as well? Not to mention he put the lives of every single person in Carvahall at risk, because the Ra'zac then knew how close-mouthed the rest of the town were.

Garrow's death had been the turning point for Eragon, he knew. He had a cause to fight for now, rather than a vague ideal. Although he was still worried about hunting the Ra'zac down. The possibilities for error were huge...

But that was a bridge he would cross when he came to it. For now his son needed instruction in swordplay and magic, among other things, and they were yet to find the Ra'zac's lair.

And lurking in the depths of his mind was the thought that he shouldn't keep up all this deception for much longer. But on the other hand, Eragon wasn't ready for that news, he was still reeling from Garrow's death, after all.

So the deception was still necessary, for the time being at least.

**AN: Well... that didn't turn out exactly how I thought... some bits were better, but a lot of bits worse than I hoped.  
I'll probably do another in this kind of line, so I'll have my little Brom 'mini-trilogy'...**

**Thoughts?**


End file.
